


Compiled Stories of the Waters, Seventh Edition

by rgdivine



Series: History of the Connected Worlds (and related sundry) [1]
Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, also if you pick up on all the agendas i'm pushing in here i'll give you a prize of some sort, i think those might be the only character tags i add to this?, i'm including the character tags for the wish cat, idk we'll see, its a book of fairytales most of which i wrote idk what to tell you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25132723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rgdivine/pseuds/rgdivine
Summary: A collection of fairy tales, legends, and lore. Most of the tales herein originate out of the Radiant Garden; however, this is the first edition of this collection to borrow from and be published in other worlds.(tales are not posted according to any order other than the order in which they are completed.)
Series: History of the Connected Worlds (and related sundry) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1820524
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	1. Foreword

**Author's Note:**

> finally, finally, FINALLY i am able to post something from the history of the connected worlds. i've been working really hard on this whole giant project, and while i probably can't post the main work until all of it is done, at least i can post these little things!
> 
> this is the compiled stories of the waters, which is tales that i write (mostly; i am going to borrow/expand on some from canon). they are all based on themes / characters / etc from canon; you can probably pick up on most of them. there will also be notes included from the (in story) editor where applicable... basically, this is the most self-indulgent thing ever.
> 
> interested? i post thoughts, previews, &c on my writing twitter @ stormsofrg!

In my earliest memories, I sit next to the blurred shape I know to be my sister, on the porch of our house beneath the night sky, as she tells me stories she learned from a traditional book of tales, the one that sits on the table in the study. I am not old enough even to walk without help—she holds my hands when we go inside—but she, like many in our city, thinks it is important that children learn the stories early.

This is the seventh edition of this book of tales, and just as a great story is passed from father to son through generations, so that the son may one day read to his own, I grew up on most of the tales herein, and am honored to have been granted the opportunity to edit a new edition for a new generation.

This book originates out of the Radiant Garden and the traditions and stories of this world. With each new edition, tales are slightly updated to reflect the modern world, although at their core the stories remain the same. Most of the tales contained within this, and all the tales contained within previous publications, are products of this world. However, unlike previous editions, this edition is the first of the _Compiled Stories of the Waters_ to contain tales which come from other worlds—and to be published in worlds other than the Radiant Garden.

Publication of this new edition falls in an extraordinary time in the history of the Radiant Garden, and indeed all the worlds. The walls between the worlds which have once kept us separate are broken down, and there is between the worlds a free exchange of ideas, of history, and of stories.

Readers from the Radiant Garden, and those who are familiar with the history of that world, will recall the Fall which occurred over a decade prior to publication. The world is only just beginning to recover its population, restoring itself to its former glory. But the people of the Garden have never let adversity overcome us.

The publication of this edition of our book of tales marks as well a milestone in our recovery. Such stories have always been a guiding light for the people of this world; from the earliest days of hardship we have used these tales as a way of preserving those we lost, a way of life we abandoned, a warning of dangers that we came to believe were no longer present, instructions for generations to come. In every myth, there is a seed of truth and a chain of memory.

Many believe that fairy tales must all end in the same way: _They lived happily ever after._ This statement, they say, makes these stories appropriate for children. Readers will notice, however, that few of the tales held in this volume will end that way. That is the seed of truth we sow in the Radiant Garden, for better or for worse. That is our memoir of hardship and adversity; our recording of a history that is not always kind, but it is always present.

Perhaps it is gentle to spill ink across the pages of history, and censor all of that which is difficult to swallow; it is gentle, but it is not kind. For what sort of people would we be if we had no memory of the hardship? We would surely bring ourselves once again to face it.

I am a writer of memoirs, a recorder of history, and now an editor of tales. They are not always gentle, these tales, nor are they always kind, but they are our history, our traditions, and our heritage, and I, at least, am firmly of the belief that it is always better to have these things uncensored—not glorified, certainly, but truthful—than it is to pretend that all is, and always was, well, especially as we present ourselves for the first time to those outside our world, and as we turn inwards and say that we have returned from the brink of destruction upon which we lingered for a decade.

I grew up on these tales, as I grew up in a Radiant Garden yet untouched by such devastation. I am honored indeed to be chosen to present the first post-Fall edition of our stories to those who have returned at long last, to those who have never seen their home, and to those from far abroad.

May you read what the Waters warn, and take solemn note.

⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛, Editor.


	2. The Wish Cat

**The Wish Cat – Bergljot – Scala Ad Caelum**

_Editor’s Note: This tale originates from a world that disappeared some decades ago; as such the language in which it was first written, with no remaining native speakers, is considered a dead language. With help from the children of the last speakers and the books in the language which they have retained, a team of scholars and Masters from different worlds has translated this tale._

* * *

Once upon a time there was a small tower at the top of a small island, and surrounding the island was a vast and empty ocean that stretched to the horizon. At the top of the tower there lived a child. The child had lived in that tower since their father left them there, telling them that their duty was to stay where he left them, so that the sun would continue to rise every morning. And every morning as the child looked out the window, the sun rose, just as their father had said that it would, and so the child believed. But the tower was very far away from any other people, and as days passed, the child became lonelier and lonelier, feeling as though they had absolutely no friends, and no companions.

After some time, a bear came to visit the child, standing up on its paws to look at them through the window. “Why do you look so sad?” Asked the bear, and it was not unkind.

"I'm tired," Said the child, peering curiously at the bear—for they had never seen a bear before, and there was, of course, considerable delight in curiosity. 

The bear, having noticed that the child sat in a room fixed with neither mattress nor bedclothes, with nothing to rest upon but for the cold stone floor, and with nothing to entertain the mind but pebbles in the corners, said: "Sometimes you can be tired because you don't care about your purpose, not just because you want to rest. Which of these are you?"

The child thought about this, and about the room in which they sat, and the duty which they were given, and said: “I want to rest. My room is only bare, and if I could rest, I would be much happier.”

"Then I will bring you something upon which to rest," The bear decided. “But you will still feel tired the next day.” This it said, and lumbered off. The child was happy, then, for a time, and waited for the bear to return. But the sun set and again it rose, and the bear did not return, and the child felt still alone, and tired.

Some more time passed, and a snake came to visit the child, wound around a vine that climbed the side of the tower, and the child pet its scales with awe. The child had never seen a snake before, and though there was considerable delight in curiosity, it seemed now somewhat less than it had been.

“Why does such a kind child seem so sad?” Asked the snake, who was basking in the warmth of the sun and in the affection gifted upon it by the child.

“I wish I was free like you,” They sighed in answer. “I wish that I could abandon my duty and explore this island while the sun was up.”

“To be free is not only to be out of a room,” The snake replied. “It is a state of the mind, and it will not come from wishes. The more that you wish, the further from free you will be. Abandoning your duty would only cause you pain.”

“Still,” Said the child, looking longingly at the outside. “It is easy for you to say: you are free, and I am not. I cannot leave upon the vines as you do, and the ground is too far for me to jump.”

“Then I will bring you a ladder,” The snake said. “For your room is bare of doors through which to leave. But you will find something else to long for.” The snake then left upon the vines, and the child was happy, for a time, and waited for the snake to return. But the sun set and again it rose, and the snake did not return, and the child felt still alone, and, staring at the rising sun, they wished to be free.

Then a fox came to visit the child, sitting on the windowsill, silhouetted by the light, and looking at them and their room with a discerning golden eye. “What a very sad child you are,” Said the fox. “Why do you sit so forlorn?”

The child looked upon the beautiful light fur of the fox, and the jewels which adorned the cape that it wore, and thought that it looked quite out of place in their bare room and its walls of plain stone.

“You must have such a nice life,” The child answered the fox, sighing once again. “I see it in how well your fur is cared for, and how shiny your cape is. But me, my room is bare and I am uncared for. I wish that I could possess the jewels of the world, just as you.”

“It is true that I do have a nice life,” The fox acknowledged. “But to be rich is more than just jewels and gold.”

“Even still, I would be happier,” The child persisted. “If I possessed jewels and gold. Instead, my room is bare and my life is empty. These things would make a room such as this one much more appealing, if I have to be here forever.”

“If that is what you truly long for,” Said the fox. “I have seen the location of many of the jewels of the world. I am a very clever fox, and I remember these things. I will go and bring you riches, so that your room will no longer be bare, and you no longer uncared for. But,” It warned as it turned to leave. “Until you have made peace with what you have, you will always long for more.”

The fox then left just as it had come, and the child watched its shining cape and light fur disappear into the shadows, and the child was happy, for a time, waiting for the fox to return and imagining all the shining riches it would bring with it. But the sun set and again it rose and the fox did not return, and the child felt still alone, and uncared for. As they stared out at the rising sun that morning, they felt resentful of it, and they turned their back.

A horse next came to visit the tower, stretching up on its back legs so that it could look in the window at the child, whose back was still turned away. Concerned, the horse said:

“It seems like something is wrong.”

The child turned when it spoke and gazed in wonder upon its beautiful mane woven with gilded thread and deep red eyes like the richest apple, but they were still resentful, and alone.

“I am angry,” The child told the horse, making their hands into fists at their side. “I am angry because I am sitting alone in this room in this tower, and there is no way out, nor place to rest, nor companions, nor shining jewels. I wish that I was not sitting alone up here, but this is what fate gave to me, so I have nothing to do but sit and be angry.”

“Anger is the path to all bad things,” Replied the horse, for it was very wise, but the child was in no mood for wisdom, and in all the mood for bad things.

“That is easy for you to say,” Said the child. “For you get to run free upon this island while I sit alone.”

“Anger is easy,” Replied the horse again. “What is hard is forgiveness, but if you have nothing better to do, perhaps you should try to do that.”

The child had never forgiven anyone before. “I don’t know how to do that,” They said.

“I will show you,” Said the horse, and it shook its shining mane and trotted away, to show the child forgiveness.

The child thought about what the horse had said for many hours, and for many hours as the anger crept back, the child thought that anger is easy, but forgiveness is hard, and the child could do all things which were hard, because there was nothing, they thought, harder than being alone in a bare room in a tower, to rise the sun, and such thoughts kept the anger at bay.

But anger is very determined, and loneliness is very much like an open door, and these thoughts did not help the child for very long, so after some time, as the sun set and again it rose and the horse had not returned, the child grew angry once more.

They leaned out their window, and the ground spiraled away from them, distant and dizzying. The child looked up at the sun, red in the sky. “I hate you!” They yelled at it. “I wish you would just stay set!” But the sun was so far away that it could not hear them.

Many a day passed then, and the child grew only more angry, at their father for leaving them with such a big and inescapable task, and at their visitors for their unfaithfulness, and at themself, for being who they were, bound by duty and alone, with no friends, and no companions. It was unreasonable anger, borne of despair, but it was all that they had in their room in their tower.

And finally, one last visitor came to the child, a cat who sat upon the windowsill, and watched in the way that cats do, with eyes holding more knowledge than they are wont to reveal. “My,” Said the cat. “What a sad child you are. Whatever is wrong?”

"I'm hungry," They said to the cat. “I was tired, and so the bear left to bring me something upon which to rest, but it never returned. I wished to be free, and so the snake left to find me a ladder, but it never returned. I am poor and my room bare, and so the fox left to bring me riches and jewels, but it never returned. I was angry, and so the horse left to show me forgiveness, but it never returned. And now, on top of it all, I am hungry, and I am alone.”

The child was sitting on the floor against the wall, looking up at the cat washing its paws. It opened one golden eye and looked back at them.

"This tower was built by someone," Said the cat, smoothly. "Why not call for him to return? Perhaps he could set you free."

"No!" Answered the child. "My father built the tower, and left me alone within it. He said I must keep my duty. My father would not help me."

The cat shrugged, and kept washing its paws. They sat in silence together for some minutes, before the child spoke again.

"How would you get my father back? He vanished without a trace after he left me here."

The cat opened both of its golden eyes to look at the child. "Never ask a cat to reveal its secrets,” It purred. “But if you ask for me to bring him back, then so I will. Do you ask me?"

The child thought about this for a few minutes. Each of their previous visitors had received their wish, but none had returned. The child did believe in omens, and perhaps this was an omen that what they longed for, the wish they had, should be abandoned. But the cat was here, offering to bring them the companionship they longed for, the freedom they desired. Would it be worth it to put their hope in this cat, just as they had in the bear, the snake, the fox, and the horse, only to possibly be let down?

“The bear, the snake, the fox, and the horse all left to bring me what they promised,” The child said after they had thought. The cat was waiting patiently, watching them. “But none ever returned. How do I know you would actually return with him if I asked?”

“Because, being a cat, I know many secrets,” Said the cat. “That the bear, the snake, the fox, and the horse do not. Perhaps they are still searching for what you need, but I already know.” And slowly it winked at the child, and the child was reassured.

“Then,” They said. “I wish for my father to return, and to deliver me from this task. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

The cat stood up as soon as the child spoke, and it lifted its delicate paws and leaped down from the window with the grace only cats can possess. The child stood too, to watch as the cat very quickly went from the tower, and disappeared out of sight. More than happy, the child was eager, now, anticipating the end of their loneliness.

The sun was close to setting when the cat returned. The moon that night would be full, and it hung already in the sky, pale and large like an ever-present eye. The cat’s fur was glowing golden in the evening light as it climbed the tower just as quickly as it had departed before.

“It is done,” Said the cat upon arrival on the windowsill, where it turned a circle and settled down to clean its paws again. “The Master of the tower is coming; he will be here for you tonight.”

This was the first time one of their visitors had returned, and the child was excited to see the cat, not just for what it spoke, but for the omen of its return.

“Thank you,” The child said, smiling wide. “Your secrets must really work.” The sun was dipping towards the horizon, and the cat blinked at the child.

“Of course they do,” It responded, and lay down. They both sat quietly, as the last rays of light disappeared over the horizon.

Then, together, they waited.

The sky became darker and darker, and the moon brighter and brighter, with its pale yellow glow like an eye above the island and its tower; the child could not resist looking into it, wondering if the moon was watching just as eagerly as they were.

When the sky looked like spilled ink, the wind picked up, ruffling the cat’s fur, as the cat stood, staring into the distance. “He comes,” Said the cat, and its voice trembled a little bit with awe.

“He comes,” Echoed the child, and their voice trembled a little bit with excitement.

Distantly on the horizon, rising from the depths of the sea, a thundering storm cloud appeared, and it rushed towards them, and the child wondered if that was their father, coming to deliver them from loneliness. Closer and closer it came, until a figure was visible in its midst, tall and regal with a long cape that flowed out behind him, embroidered with the silhouettes of the woodland animals-- all of those who had come to visit the child.

As he came to be still, standing above the tower, eye peering in the window, the cat jumped from the windowsill and ran to sit at his feet.

“My child,” Said the Master of the tower, and the child looked up. “Why do you sit so sad in your room? Why do you send cats of secrets and wishes out to find me?”

The child thought that they would be happy to see their father, but their blood felt cold as they looked at him, and they realized they felt more scared than happy. “I am sad because I am tired of being in here, trapped and poor and angry and alone.”

“And,” Said the Master. “What does this matter? You alone can raise the sun, and I have built this tower for you, my prodigal heir.”

“Yes,” Conceded the child, looking about their room, but they felt still cold. “But I have decided that I want to live like other children, like the animals in the forest: Free from this room and unburdened, rich as I should like.”

His voice like thunder, laugh like the crack of lightning, the Master of the tower threw his head back and howled with something akin to delight, and the child was frightened.

Said the Master, “The bear, the snake, the fox, and the horse, all came to you to sway you from this decision.” And his voice was not kind. “And unable to do so, finally the cat came to you, and you wished to be delivered from your task!”

The child wrapped their arms around their knees. “Yes,” They cried. “Because I am lonely! I do not want this task.”

“Someone must make the sun rise,” Responded the Master, and the eye of the moon blinked.

“Someone other than me,” The child said.

“Only you can do this,” The Master insisted again. “You would abandon the world to darkness, a traitor to its cause of light?”

The child looked around, and saw no allies.

“Yes,” They said. “Yes,” They whispered. “Yes.”

“And so you will,” Thundered the Master of the tower. The wind howled, and the tower shook with its intensity, and the child cried out as stones began to fall around them-- from the ceiling, from the walls, small pebbles at first and then larger chunks of rock. The tower was collapsing.

The child ran for the window and the ground rushed to meet them, and moving fast they barely made it out before the tower was nothing more than a pile of rubble, the remains of where they once were confined.

Above their head the storm clouds were still churning, and they turned to look up at the eye of the Master, his coat blending into the black sky, the silvery outlines of the bear, the snake, the fox, and the horse racing through the ink, where they would stay.

“What are you doing?” Shouted the child up at him, not angry any longer, but afraid.

"Freeing you," Came the Master's response in his booming voice, and what was once the tower shook and broke again, stones crumbling to pebbles to sand with a great roar, and the child covered their ears and ran from the tower, hiding some distance away.

For the rest of the night, the Master and the storm that with him he had brought raged on, raining upon the tower wrath and justice wound together-- freedom, wished and earned. And then as fast as he had come, the Master left, leaving the bear, the snake, the fox, and the horse as glimmering watchers in the sky.

When it was all done, and the child was alone, they sat huddled at the base of what was before the tower, and the cat came over to them, sitting down and washing its paws in a patch of soft clover.

“What have I done,” The child whispered, staring at the horizon, where there was no trace of the light of daybreak.

“You wished,” Said the cat. “To be free.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh, it'll be fun trying to add notes and things to later chapters in this & in the main doc for this series... ;;; well i'll give it a shot when i get to that point anyway. just know it will look much worse than it does in my word document, hahaha.


	3. The Faith of Friends

**The Faith of Friends – Qadir – Radiant Garden**

_Editor’s Note: Like many others within this collection, this is a story which I recall from my childhood. Indeed, fondly I remember a time when a child, whom my own dear friend would watch over, once compared my friend and I to this story. Quite an embarrassing moment, but dear nonetheless. However, the story which that child heard of this story, and which I heard myself for the first time, was a far darker and more cynical telling of this tale than what has been included here. Radiant Garden has seen all the sides of darkness and of light since the first edition of this compilation of tales, but we hope to present herein a solemn hope. Thus we have drawn mostly from the more lighthearted versions of this tale._

* * *

Once upon a time, in a world not far from home, there dwelled an impossible monster, one with many eyes and many mouths, like a mass of creatures of the storm. Although it lived in a nest far from light, swallowed by dark, its shadow lay heavy across the ground, almost indistinguishable from the monster itself. Rarely did the impossible monster venture into the light, but the people who lived in the world of light would sometimes catch a glimpse of it, and what they saw frightened them, and so they warned each other not to go close.

A girl called Reeta lived in a village nearby the nest of the impossible monster, and although she heard many warnings about wandering too close, she was curious and good-hearted, and one day when she was alone, she snuck away from her village, and ran off to find the monster.

It was not hard for her to find where the impossible monster dwelled, for the river that ran alongside the village led her straight to it, flowing darker and darker as she got close. Further away it brought her, before spilling at last, crystalline waters nearly black, into a yawning cavern in the ground, the sound of splashing swallowed by echoing silence.

Triumph clenched Reeta’s fist, and she smiled as she descended alongside the waters.

Silence reigned in this place for many paces, even the guiding sound of the water disappearing as it seeped into the earth, and before too long the light felt as though a distant memory. Although Reeta did not regret her decision, inevitably she began to feel uneasy, as though she was intruding. But ahead of her she felt the flow of air, and knew the passage would open. There, she thought, she would find the impossible monster, and her curiosity be satisfied.

Find the impossible monster she did, and it was deep in slumber, silent and closed-eyed, and she took in its form and was satisfied then. But as she turned to leave, her foot disturbed a stone, which rolled into others, and before a moment had passed the cavern was overwhelmed with a cacophony, and the impossible monster woke.

First it opened one eye, which glowed bright in the darkness, the only light. Then another, and another, until it was staring down at her from all sides and she met its many gazes and held herself steady.

The impossible monster spoke from many mouths and it had a voice like the voice of many people.

“Small one,” it said. “For many years I have slumbered in peace, undisturbed by the people of the village outside, and in return I have not disturbed them, either. But now, you with your impudence, you have come to wake me up. What for?”

Perhaps many others, should they face such a thing, would be fearful, but Reeta was bold and brave.[1]

“Curiosity, great one,” she said. “Curiosity has brought me here. I have heard of your existence, your many eyes and your great darkness, and I wanted to see it for myself.”

The impossible monster stared down at her with something approaching incredulity and responded:

“Curiosity? Curiosity is a poor reason to do something so dangerous, wouldn’t you think?”

But she was not deterred by its judgement, and shrugged.

“Perhaps so. But without curiosity, are we not all lost? This is the choice that I have made.”

“Ah,” Said the impossible monster in a more thunderous tone, and declared her sentence with finality. “Then live with your choice you must, and I shall keep you in my lair for all time, prisoner in the darkness. Shall your curiosity be sated then!”

But Reeta was a thoughtful sort, and so she said then to the impossible monster:

“I would be content to stay here forever as a prisoner in the darkness, but for that I have many friends, and I just couldn’t bear to leave them without saying goodbye. Great one, won’t you let me go so that I can see them one more time? It would take me no more than a week to say my farewells, and then I promise to return here once more.”

She was earnest, and spoke from her heart, but the impossible monster was very ancient and had seen the worst sides of humanity, and knew well their tendency to lie and to betray. Said the monster:

“Small one, I will not let you leave, as I do not believe that you would return.” And as it spoke it drew itself up with the sound of many spindly legs scraping along the stone floor, and it towered over the girl.

Reeta knew when to back down, and she nodded to the impossible monster and sat down near the wall of the cavern to bide her time. There was little she regretted in life, but to abandon all her dear friends so quickly was something she never wanted to do.

A full day passed, and then a full night. Reeta was wakeful through it all, aware that if she rested for even moments, perhaps the impossible monster would devour her whole, and she still had not yet gotten to say goodbye to those she loved. Though the impossible monster seemed to sleep, it never closed all of its eyes, and some she felt watching her all through the night.

But when the dawn broke over the sky, and she could see just the faintest line of light from the distant yawning opening of the impossible monster’s nest, she heard a calling.

Back home in the village, she had left behind many friends, but among them she had one whom she held most dear: Sedar, whom she loved with all her heart. It was his voice that she heard as if from far away, calling her name, and with the suddenness of one with an idea, Reeta stood.

“My friend has come to look for me,” she exclaimed to the impossible monster, and it blinked open many more of its eyes.

“So?” The impossible monster returned, without moving.

“I propose a trade,” Reeta said, listening to the distant voice of her dear friend. “I will call my friend down here, and he will stay here in the darkness while I return to the outside for a short time. Meanwhile, Sedar will stay here, and if I do not return when I say that I will, then you shall keep _him_ forever.”

But the impossible monster was unimpressed. “Your friend has not woken me as you have. His behavior has not stirred my wrath as yours have. It is you who I want to keep here, and as I have said, I do not trust that you would return.”

Undeterred, the girl persisted. “A soul for a soul. All I ask is a week to see all my friends once more, and then I will return here to you. If I do not return, then I shall never disturb you again, and I will bring with me the knowledge that you are not to be disturbed at all, so you shall live more years in peace.”

This, the impossible monster had to admit, was fair. Still, it had not lived for so long and seen so much to give in so easily.

“Why do you believe I would let him go if you do return,” it questioned her. “And not simply keep both of you?”

Truthfully, Reeta had no reason at all to trust the impossible monster. But she was, of course, good-hearted, and when one asks another to trust them, they must in return exhibit the same. And that is how she answered it, saying:

“I trust that if I keep my word, then you shall too.”

Her confidence and the strength of her will and her heart impressed the impossible monster, and with its many voices, it agreed to her proposal. Reeta then called back to Sedar, and with the courage and trust of dear friends, he agreed as well.

Thus the exchange was made, and Sedar sat down on the ground beside the impossible monster, and Reeta stood and left, without glancing back over her shoulder at her friend. She could feel his faith.

But it haunted Reeta with every step she took in the village, that she had just left Sedar behind. Not for a minute did she doubt her own ability to return to him and set him free, and yet the feeling of abandonment hung about her as a cloud.

A week came and went, and on the evening of the last day, the impossible monster found itself disappointed as Reeta did not show. Said it to Sedar:

“I was fooled, and you were too. Humanity will never change, and trust will always be betrayed.”

But Sedar shook his head and smiled at the impossible monster. “Even if you are right, although I think you aren’t, it would still be worth it for me to take my friend’s place. Without hesitation I would give myself for her.”

The impossible monster was stunned by that, its many eyes open wide, but before it could respond, there was a shout outside, and the sound of panting breath, as Reeta, proving her loyalty and trust, returned running to the nest where they waited.

She bowed solemnly as she caught her breath, and the impossible monster turned its many eyes to her, as stunned as it had been, but it bowed back, very slightly—the mark of the barest respect.

Said Reeta:

“Impossible monster, I have taken the week you have granted me, and I have had many last conversations with my friends. I have settled my affairs, and I am ready now for an eternity of darkness.”

Sedar, who had never once doubted his friend, smiled further as she came to him and extended her arm, so that she may lift him up and take his place as he took hers. He took her hand with grace and no regret, and she pulled him up just the same. But when they were both standing, and before she could take his place, the impossible monster spoke.

“It appears I have misjudged you, small one.” They both turned to look at it. “In all the time that I have lived, never have I known humans to be loyal, kind, or trustworthy. Truthfully, I thought that your friend was foolish and that you were reckless, and I would be justified in my belief.

“But today you have surprised me and proved that there is more to humanity than I have seen. Small one, I would be honored if you would allow me to revise my judgement: if you are what humanity has to offer, I believe you would be better served walking on the surface.”

Then it paused, and hand in hand Sedar and Reeta, not nervous nor anticipating but merely accepting, waited for its next words, which it gave without shame.

“For the price of a lesson of loyalty, you both may walk free.” And it bowed to them both, its parting word most simple. “Farewell.”

The pair bowed in return, and hand in hand they returned to the surface, and the impossible monster returned to its slumber, reassured in its peace.[2]

* * *

[1] In some more cynical versions of this story, these words are used to mean something closer to _foolish_ in the modern language. The editor, researchers, and translators, for once in agreement, have decided here to depict the more hopeful version of this tale, and these traits.

[2] The same cynical manuscripts which have been excluded from this version of the tale, but which can be found in editions 4 and 5 for the curious, include a different ending, wherein the friends are forever separated. Once again this was a choice on the editor’s part, for he believes that there is such a thing as a bond which is unbreakable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again! if you've made it this far, i thank you very much for reading. a very special thank you goes out to su, who kindly let me use her oc for one of the characters in this chapter.
> 
> i have three more tales in piecemeal right now, and two or so more that have a premise written out-- after that, we should be into the bulk of this project. i started the compiled stories as a way to help me flesh out some details for the actual main part of this series project-- the history of the connected worlds itself. so i should have actual fandom content relatively soon, hahaha.
> 
> i do take ideas for tales for this work if anyone has some! and as always, feedback and interaction, comments, kudos, bookmarks, and shares, are super encouraging. if you liked it, let me know! my main social is my primary twitter, @ rgdivine.
> 
> interested? i post thoughts, previews, &c on my writing twitter @ stormsofrg!


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